


Achilles, Come Down

by lathala



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Blood and Violence, Character Death In Dream, Dreams, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, SakuAtsu, Trojan War, atsumu as achilles, but not really detailed, kiyoomi as patroclus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lathala/pseuds/lathala
Summary: Historians may say that Achilles and Patroclus were good friends, but what they do not know was that Patroclus was Achilles' most beloved.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 15





	Achilles, Come Down

**Author's Note:**

> **notes:** i posted this as a twitter socmed au, but i decided to make it as a fic. this is set during the torjan war and the present lifetime. not all characters from the book will appear.
> 
>  **disclaimer:** since this is solely based on tsoa, there are narrations and dialogues that came from the book since there are parts that i want to stay as it is.

_ Je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent parce qu'ils estiment que la vie ne vaut pas la peine d'être vécue, et j'en vois d'autres qui se font paradoxalement tuer pour les idées ou les illusions qui leur donnent une raison de vivre. Ce qu'on appelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir.  _

— excerpt from: Albert Camus, Le Mythe de Sisyphe: Chapitre 1

**Achilles.** ********************************

_Aristos Achaion._ Best of the Greeks. 

Son of the King Peleus and the sea-nymph Thetis. Achilles was a prince, the greatest warrior of his generation, voice graced by the gods above, and the most beautiful. However, he was still a man. Death was bound to happen; death was inevitable even for him.

**Patroclus.** ****************

A disappointment.

Son of the King Menoetius. Patroclus has never been fast nor vigorous; he did not know how to sing. He might as well be nothing, for he did not have any redeeming factor, except he did not get sick easily. And being exiled from his home for accidentally killing another boy. Patroclus found shelter in Peleus’ kingdom, Phthia, where Achilles took him under his wing. 

And this was how their story began. 

_______________

Pushing the heavy, gold-studded doors open, he was greeted by the sight of an old man - a king perhaps with such a pompous coronet sitting atop of his head. He was seated on a radiant throne of brass that was placed on an elevated platform. An azure carpet flows like waterfalls from the throne down to the entryway. With the curtains that have been adorned with delicate patterns and gilded lining pushed aside, the enormous stained glass windows on the right side illuminate the entire hall.

Achilles walked past the bodyguards by the doors while someone, a boy his age, trailed behind him. He knelt at his Father’s feet. “Father, I come to ask your permission.”

“Speak then, my son.” The king’s voice – or as what he had called him, his Father – was firm, yet intrigued.

“I forgot to say I wished him for a companion.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flickered toward the boy behind Achilles. “Young man, come here.” With hesitant steps, the boy came forward, kneeling beside Achilles. “What is your name?”

“Patroclus. Son of Menoetius.” The boy said with his head hung low.

The king hummed and then he looked at Achilles, brows drew together. “For many years now, Achilles, I have urged companions on you and you have turned them away. Why this young man?”

“He is surprising.” Was what Achilles said which made the young man look up, a frown plastered on his face.

“Surprising.” The king echoed.

“Yes.” Achilles answered with such finality in his tone. However, the young man beside him wished he could explain what he meant.

The king rubbed his bearded chin as if pondering. “He is an exile with a stain upon him. He will add no luster to your reputation.”

“I do not need him to,” Achilles said. Not proudly or boastfully. Honestly.

The king acknowledged this. “Yet other boys will be envious that you have chosen such a one. What will you tell them?”

Without hesitance, voice clear and crisp, he answered. “It is not for them to say what I will do.”

The king and Achilles’ eyes met, and the young man feared for his life, feared that anger might surge between the two. But it did not happen. The king only gave them the faintest smile of amusement before he commanded them.

“Stand up, both of you.”

And so the two boys did – one with confidence, the other with worry.

“I pronounce your sentence.” The king said in dismissal. “That is all.”

Achilles turned to look at the boy standing beside him – his black curls may have covered a part of his eyes, which were dark as coal with two angel’s kisses above the right one, but Achilles knew. He knew that the boy was staring at him in bemusement. But he did not care.

_______________

Atsumu wakes up due to his blaring alarm. He aimlessly taps on his bed, locating his phone hiding between the mess of his pillows and sheet. Once he found his phone, he checks the time: **6:30 AM**. He still has an hour and a half to prepare before he goes to class, but he decided to continue lying down and become one with his bed. 

He remembered the dream he just had. The dream was so real, so vivid that it felt like he was truly there. That he wasn’t actually asleep, and he was only revisiting a past that he once had. 

He tries to close his eyes one more time, hoping that sleep catches him and that he can replay the dream he had earlier. 

But the dream doesn’t come.

Upon receiving his friends' texts, Atsumu shoves his phone inside his jeans' pocket, slipping on his shoes before he begins sprinting out of his dorm and toward the university. His phone kept chiming with notifications, he would have ignored it because he literally only has a minute left before his first lecture starts, but the messages don't stop, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

Numerous notifications from their group chat appeared on the screen, curious; he checks them while running, which is very dangerous and quite stupid if Atsumu is honest. Yet, he doesn't really give a shit anymore. The bell starts to ring loud enough for the entire student body to hear, so Atsumu dashes across the campus ground. 

But before he can even reach their building, he stumbles, his back slamming on the concrete while he holds tightly on his head, afraid that it might hit the floor. Sure, his head is still intact, but the pain blooms in his spine, jarring him, and he feels the muscles in his back twitch at how painful the impact was. 

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut as he bites his lip in order not to scream out in pain. 

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry." The person who bumped into Atsumu says, his voice laced with panic and concern. He feels hands on his shoulders, helping him to sit up. "I'm really sorry. I was in a rush – sorry, fuck." 

When Atsumu's eyes opened, it was as if the pain subdued all of a sudden. Instead, coldness washes over him. He must have really hit his head if his mind began to conjure up hallucinations. But as his vision started to focus on the guy looming over him, he opened his mouth to ask. 

" _Patroclus?_ " Atsumu asks in disbelief because right before his eyes is the young boy from his dreams.

_______________

The two boys became inseparable from then on.

Friendship turned into something more – romance – as they grew into adolescence.

Patroclus followed Achilles everywhere he went. But the only place that he did not follow was to see his mother. The sea-nymph, Thetis, did not approve of their relationship. She believes that a mortal with such little renown – close to none – is not a worthy companion to her son, Achilles, who is destined for glory.

Patroclus entered their shared room, sat on his own bed. He looked a bit troubled and Achilles wanted to ask him, but instead this was what he uttered:

“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Patroclus said as if he already knew about it. But hearing it directly from Achilles was enough to create another rigged scar on his abused heart.

“I’m going to be taught by Chiron.” Achilles paused, then added. “He taught Heracles. And Perseus.”

This was not supposed to happen. But his mother had chosen differently.

A mother’s wishes. In Patroclus’ countries, they were not worth much. But she was a goddess, first and always.

Achilles stood and pulled off his tunic. It was hot, full summer, and they were accustomed to sleeping naked. The moon shone on Achilles’ belly, smooth, muscled, downed with light brown hairs that darkened as they ran below his waist. He did not notice Patroclus averting his eyes.

The next morning, at dawn, Achilles rose and dressed. He did not know that Patroclus was awake; he had not slept. Achilles slung his bag over his shoulder and paused, glancing at the lone boy sleeping on the bed, the last time, at the door.

Then he left. And when Patroclus opened his eyes after a moment has passed, he was alone.

_______________

"Sorry?" The guy didn't mean it as an apology, more of a question. "My name is Kiyoomi. Sakusa Kiyoomi. Oh fuck, you must have hit your head for you to mistake me for someone else." 

_Kiyoomi._ _Sakusa Kiyoomi._

The name tasted foreign on his tongue. 

The guy from his dreams, Kiyoomi, holds him on his elbow to help him stand up. There is a ringing sound passing through Atsumu's ears, and then he closes out all the noise, focusing his gaze on Kiyoomi, who is still fretfully watching him. There's a desperate nagging at the back of his head, questions that are dying to be answered, but it falls mute inside his mouth. 

"Do you want me to assist you to the clinic?" Kiyoomi asks, his soft hands still encircled on Atsumu's elbow. And the touch seemed so awfully familiar that he wanted to bask in the warmth. 

As he was about to answer, someone approaches them and glances between the two of them. Then his eyebrow raises in puzzlement when he sees the disoriented look Atsumu has on his face and Kiyoomi, who is completely lost and uneasy. 

"Toshi, I bumped into him and then he fell," Kiyoomi explains frantically. "He was wincing in pain earlier, so we need to bring him to the clinic." 

"We?" The guy scoffs, pointing to himself. 

"No!" Atsumu protests once he finds his voice. The two guys turn to stare at him, utterly startled when his objection came out louder than he expected. "It was my fault. Sorry!" He grabs his bag on the concrete floor, and then he's off. 

The two guys were left standing, completely taken aback at what just happened. Well, Atsumu could say that he felt the same. However, it's the least of his concern because he knows no matter how fast he kicks his feet as he courses his way towards their classroom, he would still be met with a closed door and an absent mark on their class attendance. 

And alas, he is right.

______________

Patroclus was not deterred by Thetis’ threat. _Do not try to follow,_ she had said as she held the young man by his throat.

Patroclus was not deterred by the warning of a goddess because wherever Achilles went, Patroclus followed. So he followed him at Mount Pelion where Chiron resided. 

“Patroclus.” Achilles called but the other did not move. “I hoped that you would come.”

Patroclus’ stomach rolled, awash with nerves and relief at once. Patroclus drank him in, the bright hair, the soft curve of his lips upwards. Patroclus’ joy was so sharp he did not dare to breathe. He did not know what he might have said then. I’m sorry, perhaps. Or perhaps something more.

And for two years, they had spent it together happily in Chiron’s abode. Chiron, who had helped them study, taught them how to fight, and he also introduced to Patroclus the art of healing.

Achilles leaned forward.

Their mouths opened under each other, and the warmth of his sweetened throat poured into Patroclus’. He could not think, could not do anything but drink Achilles in, each breath as it came, the soft movements of his lips. It was a miracle.

Patroclus was trembling, afraid to put Achilles to flight. He did not know what to do, what he would like. But Achilles was pliant and so Patroclus kissed his neck, the span of his chest, and tasted the salt. He seemed to swell beneath Patroclus’ touch, to ripen. He smelled like almond and earth. Achilles pressed against Patroclus, crushing his lips to wine.

There was no time that passed but only their breaths.

Bliss rose in them. Names cried out like a prayer.

“Are you sorry?” The words were quickly out of Achilles’ mouth, a single breath.

“I am not.” Patroclus said with no uncertainty.

“I am not either.”

_______________

_I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me._

The words ring from the back of Atsumu’s head, and he probably looks stupid right now, reaching out his hand to the thin air.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hears his brother, Osamu, asks once he is out of their lecture. Tetsurou and Koutarou are nowhere in sight since they have different classes.

“Samu, if I tell you something weird, will you believe me?” Atsumu asks. His twin brother was about to answer, but Atsumu beats him to it as he starts talking again. “I know I’m full of shit and I don’t make sense sometimes, but do you know anything about dreams?”

As expected, Osamu snorts. Atsumu whines, demanding his brother to be serious for a moment. “Okay, fine.” He sighs, catching the apprehensive look Atsumu has on his face. “What’s up?”

_______________

At the age of 9, King Menoetius brought Patroclus to the court of Tyndareus as a suitor for his daughter, Helen, to ask for her hand in marriage. Although the suit of Patroclus is ultimately refused, he was bound to take a blood oath pledging to uphold the marriage of Helen.

At the age of 16, King Peleus received a word from Mycenae, from the sons Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaus. A crime has happened: the wife of Menelaus, Queen Helen, has been abducted by the son of King Priam of Troy, Paris. Agamemnon and Menelaus have planned to lead an expedition to Troy to recover Queen Helen. They have also asked King Peleus to send a delegation of men from Phthia. With the promise that all men who fight will come home wealthy and renowned.

Patroclus was bound to this war.

King Peleus has wished his son, Achilles, to lead the Phthian delegation.

The sea-nymph was not elated with the news. For she has long knew about the prophecy about Achilles – he will die if he goes to Troy.

Achilles pressed his body closer to Patroclus. Skin to skin. He whispered. “If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”

_______________

“You were Achilles and this Kiyoomi guy that bumped you, was who? Patroclus?” Osamu reiterates and hearing it coming from his brother’s mouth sounded so absurd to Atsumu’s ears. “Isn’t Achilles a Greek warrior?”

Atsumu nods, still feeling a bit fidgety, but he didn’t add anything because truthfully speaking, he has no idea about Greek mythologies.

“Well, I’m no expert in dreams.” Osamu frankly says. “But, what do _you_ think does your dream mean?”

"That’s why I confided in you!” Atsumu grumbles. “I literally have no idea, Samu.”

Sensing that his twin brother is still unsettled, he ruffles his hair. “What do you want to do now?”

“What’s the most sensible thing that I should do?” He asks back. “Do you think I should ask him if he also has the same dreams as me?”

Osamu ponders for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “Wouldn’t that be weird? He might even think you really damaged your head if you approach him and ask him that.” 

Atsumu’s shoulders sag. “Whatever. Maybe it was just merely a dream; nothing more, nothing less.”

He didn’t know who he was forcing to believe with his words: Osamu or himself?

_______________

Unbeknownst to Patroclus, Thetis had sent Achilles to Scyros. And that was where he hid, disguised as a lady. Sorrowful upon knowing that Achilles was gone and he did not know his whereabouts, Patroclus went to King Peleus to demand Achilles’ location.

 _Scyros_. The king had whispered like it was a secret never meant to be shared. Most definitely not to Patroclus.

But Patroclus had journeyed to Scyros. And there, he found him: 

Achilles.

In the confines of their shared room, Patroclus asked.

“Your mother was trying to hide you from the war?”

Achilles nodded. “She does not want me to go to Troy.”

“Why?” Patroclus had asked again because he had always thought Thetis wanted him to fight, so why hide him from this war?

“I don’t know.” Achilles answered. “She says I’m too young. Not yet, she says.”

“And it was her idea?” Patroclus gestured at the remnants of the dress. An evidence of how he dressed himself as a woman to hide from the war.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have done it myself.”

And yet, their hiding was short-lived when Odysseus and Diomedes arrived. 

At the center of the room, a vermillion rug adorned the marbled floor, and on it were four chairs fit for them: Odysseus, Diomedes, Achilles, and Patroclus. They all sat, facing each other and the air was thick.

But Odysseus spoke first, unperturbed. “You were clever in hiding yourself; we had to be cleverer still in finding you.”

With a pride of a prince, Achilles lifted an eyebrow. “Well? You have found me. What do you want?”

“We want you to come to Troy.” Odysseus said.

It was not a request. It was an order.

But Achilles did not back down. “And if I do not want to come?”

It was the first time Diomedes had spoken and it was a threat that came out of his mouth. “Then we make this known.” He lifted Achilles’ discarded dress.

Achilles’ face colored in a shade of red like the vermillion rug underneath the soles of their footwear. It was one thing to wear a dress out of necessity, another thing for the world to know of it. The people abolished their most ominous names for men who acted or behaved like women; they have lost their lives over such insults.

Odysseus held up a restraining hand. “We are all noble men here and it should not have to come to such measures. I hope we can offer you happier reasons to agree. Fame, for instance. You will win much of it, if you fight for us.”

Achilles would have caved in, for fame is what he longs to gain. But he did not relent.

It seemed like Odysseus knew Achilles was a stubborn prince, steadfast even. And so he smiled as if at a memory of some divine mischief. “I am fortunate to have some knowledge of the gods.” With that being said, it piqued Achilles’ curiosity. “And the gods have seen fit to share with me a prophecy about you.”

Patroclus should have known that Odysseus did not come here to Scyros, along with Diomedes with such tawdry blackmail as his only coin. From all the stories Patroclus has heard, they named Odysseus _polutropos_ – the man of many turnings.

And fear crept into Patroclus has he listened and watched the conversation unfold in front of him.

“What prophecy?” Achilles asked, slowly.

“That if you do not come to Troy, your godhead will wither in you, unused. Your strength will diminish.”

Patroclus did not have any clue if what Odysseus had said had any ounce of truth in them but it was enough to lure Achilles into believing him.

Almost.

The carved wooden double doors blew open and there stood in the doorway was Thetis, hot as a living flame. Patroclus has seen the sea-nymph angry before, but this was different. Her wrath seemed to be laced with trepidation and desperation.

Desperation for what? Patroclus did not know.

Odysseus did not flinch when the air around him trembled as Thetis laid her gaze upon him. “Ask her.” He urged Achilles. “Ask your mother what she knows.”

Achilles swallowed, staring at his mother’s black eyes. “Is it true? What Odysseus had said, is it true?”

The remnant of her fire was gone; only ashes of what she had touched remained. “It is true. But there is more, and worse than what he has not said.” Her words came tonelessly, as a statue would speak them. “If you go to Troy, you will never return. You will die a young man there.”

The color on Achilles’ face has drained. Pale. “It is certain?"

This is what all mortals ask first, in disbelief, shock, fear. _Is there no exception for me?_ That was what Achilles would have wanted to ask, but his mother’s eyes were devoid of emotions. As if every last hope of keeping Achilles away from the impending doom has left her entirety. 

“It is certain.”

Then she was gone.

And now Patroclus knew why she was so desperate at hiding Achilles from the war. She does not want him dead. And neither does Patroclus. 

_______________

Patroclus did not remember what happened after that and how he and Achilles ended up in their room. But he remembered Achilles’ face, skin drawn tightly over his cheeks, the dulled pallor of his brow. His shoulders, usually so straight and fine, seemed fallen.

Anguish poured over Patroclus, its hands curling on his neck, choking him.

_Achilles’ death._

Patroclus felt as if he was already dying just by thinking of it.

 _You must not go._ He almost said, a thousand times. A plea. But it never left his mouth. Instead, he held Achilles’ hands fast between his; they were cold as ice and very still.

Patroclus knew Achilles did not fear for his death, but the nightmare that loomed his head was the loss of his brilliance, the withering of his grace. Because who was Achilles if not miraculous and radiant? Who was he if not destined for fame. 

“I would not care,” Patroclus said. The words scrambled from his mouth. “Whatever you became. It would not matter to me. We would be together.” 

“I know,” Achilles said quietly, but he did not look at him. Then with a resolute decision, he said: “I will go. I will go to Troy.”

The rosy gleam of his lip, the brown of his eyes that put the branches of the trees to shame. There was not a line anywhere on his face, nothing creased or graying; all crisp. He was spring, golden and bright.

He was watching Patroclus, his eyes as deep as earth. “Will you come with me?” he asked

The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life Patroclus could have refused, could have torn his hair and screamed, and made him face his choice alone. But not in this one. Achilles would sail to Troy and Patroclus would follow, even into death.

“Yes,” Patroclus whispered like a promise. “Yes.”

The ship was a beauty, finer even than Odysseus’ – sleek and slim as a knifepoint, meant to cut the sea. The ship’s boards were still sticky with new resin. The warriors leaned over the railing to wave their last farewell, the sun-warm wood pressed against their bellies. The sailors have heaved up the anchor, square and chalky with barnacles, and loosened the sails. Then they took their seats at the oar that fringed the boat like eyelashes, waiting for the count. The drums began to beat, and the oars lifted and fell, taking them to Troy. 


End file.
